The monks moved with inhuman speed—robes flowing like smoke, staffs whistling through the air with bone-breaking force. Nkosana dodged the first strike, barely managing to summon a wave of black flame to repel them. But these weren't ordinary men. They didn't burn.
One monk whispered something in a forgotten tongue. Nkosana's legs buckled. His demon blood roared in defiance, but something deeper—older—was being suppressed.
"Ancient seals," he realized. "They're binding me."
In desperation, he reached for the altar where his mother's name still shimmered beneath the ash. His hand brushed the carving—and suddenly, a flood of energy surged through him. Memories not his own. A thousand years of curses. A glimpse of the true source of his power.
His eyes glowed crimson.
The nearest monk lunged—only to be stopped mid-air, frozen in time. Nkosana looked at him, and the monk crumbled into dust.
"I warned them," Nkosana whispered, his voice distorted, layered with something no longer human. "I'm done running."
The remaining monks hesitated. One of them, older, stepped forward. "You are not the first to wear the curse. But you may be the last."Behind them, the monastery doors burst open.
And the real enemy stepped in.
Not human.
Not demon.
Something worse.